


Seventh Grade Snark

by smolonde



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Companionable Snark, F/F, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolonde/pseuds/smolonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya meets an intriguing, gorgeous girl in her 7th grade music class. She doesn't quite know what she feels, but it confuses her a little bit. Unfortunately, Rose Lalonde's snark makes everything a little more puzzling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you were not expecting the first day of seventh grade to be an emotional storm.

You are sitting in your music class, drawing a dress in the margins of the sheet music that has been handed out to your classmates. When the bell rings, you cast your gaze upwards towards your teacher.

“Hey kids, the name’s Mr. Ampora.” The guy at the front of your classroom looks like a total tool who needs a shower, a wardrobe makeover, nicotine gum, and an exfoliating lotion. His leather jacket and slicked-back hair makes him look as if he’s just stepped out of the fifties, and there’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear. You shudder inwardly, looking at greasy hair and his calloused hands.

“I’m gonna do roll call now, so you little squirts shut it for now.” You flinch at his irritated tone. Shouldn’t music teachers be nice and caring?

He seems to pick up on your discomfort, turning to sneer at you. “Welcome to the real world, sweetheart.”

You flinch at the degrading term, but when you open your mouth for an undoubtedly weak retaliation, you hear a musical voice ring from the back of the classroom. “Do not call her ‘sweetheart’. If you’re going to degrade your students, I’d rather you do it in a way that doesn’t showcase your blatant misogyny.”

The teacher’s mouth drops open. You whip your head around to find your savior, and when your eyes find her, your jaw joins Mr. Ampora’s on the floor.

The girl sitting in the chair behind you is, for lack of a better word, stunning. Her blonde hair is short, cut into a bob, little curls bouncing from her straightened hair, and her eyes are a brilliant violet that seems to bore right through you. Her lips are black and soft, shimmering with a coat of lipstick that seems to be freshly painted on. On cue, she reaches up a perfect pale hand with lilac nails into her pocket, pulls out a tube of black lipstick, and reapplies.

“Your obvious apathy towards your students shows a weak personality and multiple issues. What kind of man with healthy self-esteem verbally harasses his students? Possibly, your resentment might be built of not succeeding in the music field due to domination from men who don’t look as if they’ve just stepped out of _Grease._ And now that you’re trapped in a classroom for two hundred days with pre-pubertal students, which I can only assume builds up a wall of disgust.”

Ampora’s eyes, which slowly widen as she continues her spiel, are threatening to bug out of his head. Yours are probably doing the same, but in a completely different way. You’re taking in the rest of her; her grey shirt, patterned with hummingbirds, her long, slender neck. She turns her gaze to yours lazily, and your heart stops in your chest as her face breaks into a smile, only for it to skyrocket when she winks one violet eye at you.

The rest of the class sits in silence, and Ampora breaks out of his stupor. “Ms.—“

“Lalonde. Rose Lalonde.” Her name glides smoothly over her lips, and you find yourself mouthing them. _Rose Lalonde._

“Go out to the hall. I don’t let snarky broads talk to me like that.”

Your mouth drops open. How dare he call her that? You stand up, your head swimming with rage.

“Maybe you would be more respected by your students and feel less like the weak flagellum that you are if you showed some respect to us. Calling a student a ‘broad’ is ultimate disrespect and a teacher who says things of that nature is worthless as not only an educator, but a person.”

Rose turns to look at you, one eyebrow cocked. “It seems that Ms..... I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“M-Maryam. Kanaya Maryam.” You wish that your hijab had an extension to hide your face; all the blood in your body seems to be rushing upwards.

“Beautiful. It seems that Ms. Maryam has proved my point; a blatant creep has no business educating a class of children.” She looks straight at you, and you’re sure that if you weren’t sweating before, you are now. Your staring, however, is interrupted by a yell from behind you.

“Get out of my class!” Both of you are ushered towards the door, your arm brushing Rose’s on the way out. You feel goosebumps rise beneath your sleeves, and when the classroom door shuts, you and Rose are left alone in the hallway.

“Um… Thank you for coming to my defense in there. It was much appreciated, and I doubt that I would have said anything, had you not jumped in.”

She faces you, a calm look on her face. “It’s always my responsibility to help when a teacher bullies a student. It also helps that you are both attractive and intelligent, which gives me no qualms about aiding you.”

You gape at her. “Did you just imply that I am attractive to you?” She can’t have meant it like that, can she?

“You’re quite pretty, Ms. Maryam. Kanaya.” When your name slips past those soft, black lips, your heart speeds up to the point where you can see it beating under your shirt.

“Uh. You too, Rose.”

“I’m glad that we agree on that at least. Well, I’ll see you around, Kanaya, and I hope that you’ll be excited to see me too.”

As she sashays to the end of the hall, she gives you a wave. You raise your hand slowly, waving at her shyly.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you’re pretty sure that the girl down the hall has just stolen your heart.


	2. Chapter 2

“Earth to Kanaya.” Your daydreaming is shattered by your sister’s hennaed hand waving in front of your face. Damn Porrim; your mind was consumed by flashing violet eyes, purple nails, and black lips.

“Yes, Porrim? What is it that you need?” You force a smile onto your face, trying to get the vivid image of platinum blond hair out of your mind.

“I need to know who you’re thinking about. We’re dark, and we don’t blush unless we feel particularly emotional, so it stand to reason that because of the distinctly red coloration of your face and the shy, embarrassed expression that you can’t hide, there’s someone who you’re dreaming of.”

You roll your eyes, trying to shove the blush back down. “I am far lighter than you, and my blush shows up more easily.”

“Kanaya, you’re not doing much to dispel my argument. Tell me, who is your admirer?”

You mumble into your hand. “She is not my admirer. She’s simply a classmate who is quite attractive. My feelings for her are more suited to friendship than to a romantic feeling.”

“Sure, Kanaya. I’m sure that’s it.” She smirks, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in a doubting expression.

“Sometimes I honestly question how you can tolerate yourself with your infuriating smugness,” you snap, “because no one else seems to be able to.”

“Sure, Kanaya. Sure.” She drifts out of the room, humming a Pakistani folksong that your mother used to sing to you.

You sigh, breathing in the hot air of the kitchen. A smell of chickpeas and turmeric wafts into your nostrils, and you relax, your mind drifting away onto other, lovelier images.

 

Your lunch period is right before music class, and you’re gearing yourself up to see Rose again. Unfortunately, your friends seem to have noticed your nervousness.

“Oh my god, Kanaya! Stop shaking the damn table, it’s so annoying!” Vriska Serket, your best friend for the last four years, is rolling her eyes. She slaps your thigh in irritation, and you stop jiggling, an embarrassed blush rising to your face.

“My apologies, Vriska, I did not mean to annoy you. I am simply a bit distracted.”

“Yeah, no shit, Fussy. You’re bright red, you’re restless, and you’ve been staring into space with a goofy-ass expression for the last hour. I want to know what’s up.” She leans forwards, a grin creeping across her elfish face. “Is it a crush? Oh my god, it is. Who is she?”

Your blush threatens to turn the color of turnips. Vriska is the only one outside your family who knows that you like girls. She was the first person you told, though the context is embarrassing in hindsight; you were attempting to explain that you had a crush on her. She didn’t take the hint; she’s always been emotionally obtuse, but she accepted you and encouraged you to tell your family. Coming from a Muslim family, you’d expected your mother to be conservative, even though you knew your sister had brought many female “friends” over.  In actuality, she was anything but. She was the first to check books out of the library on homosexuality, and one time you found her googling ‘resources for gay Muslim youth”. You’d almost cried of joy.

You don’t quite want to tell Vriska about Rose; she’ll tell you to loosen up and actually talk to her. But you look at Vriska, she’s pouting and her eyebrows are raised. You sigh in resignation.

“Fine, if you must know. There is a girl in my music class named Rose, and she is very intelligent, not to mention attractive.” A shy grin starts to tug at the corner of your lips.

“Ugh, you always fall for the geeks.” Vriska snarks, but you can tell she’s full of hot air. She’d never pass judgement on you.

“She is not a geek. You LARP every weekend, yet have the audacity to pretend that you are above everyone.” You poke her side, and she rolls her eyes.

“How many times do I gotta explain it to you? Nerds and geeks are two different things. I’m a geek. Your new crush sounds like a nerd. But I guess you’re pretty nerdy too, so it’ll work out. Just grow some balls and talk to her.” The bell rings, and she gets up. “See you later, fussy. Have fun with your crush!”

You sigh, watching her flounce off in the other direction. Your irritation soon halts in its tracks when the realization kicks in; Rose is in your next class. Your stomach drops and tingles in a not-unpleasant way.

 

When you walk into music class, Rose isn’t there. What if she’s sick today? What if you have to face Mr. Ampora without a pair of black lips and violet eyes silently urging you on? You head starts to spin, and you sit down, your heart pounding. Then you feel a cool hand on your shoulder.

“You look unwell, Kanaya. Perhaps you should go to the nurse’s office.” The voice that you’ve only heard a few times but cannot forget drifts into your ears, and you jump.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, dear, I was just going to see if you had a temperature.” She touches the back of her palm to your neck, and your pulse quickens. Your eyes widen, hoping that she did not notice the reaction, and when you look at her again, her eyebrow is raised in a perfect semi-circle.

“Well, you’re certainly flushed, and your heart is speeding. Are you sure that you’re all right? You seem to be distracted and dazed, though I don’t know what could possibly be responsible for that.” You could swear that her eyes are boring holes through the fabric of your hijab and out of your temple. 

“Y-yes, I’m perfectly fine. I think it’s a passing heat, it should be over soon.” _Please, for the love of everything that is sacred, please move away from me before I burst an artery._

If anything, this just encourages her. She leans into you until your faces are barely millimeters away. “Really. Is there anything I can do to make you feel a little less agitated?”

And then the door slams, surprising Rose, who starts and faceplants directly into your lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanaya and Rose agree on something.

Another student walks into the room, takes in the scene, and promptly leaves.

Rose jerks back, her pale face red. Your face is probably similar, except for the fact that it’s frozen in an openmouthed expression of shock. Blood pulses through your eardrums, and your eyes threaten to roll out of your head.

Rose gets over whatever shock she seems to be in, waving her hand in front of your eyes. “Kanaya. Kanaya, are you all right?” Her face pales again, and her brow lowers in concern.

You answer her question by promptly bolting out of the classroom, shoving past Mr. Ampora as he walks through the door.

You slide the lock on the stall door and lean against the plastic walls. Holy shit, you just kissed Rose Lalonde. You’re still trembling from the split second where her lips were on yours, soft and gentle. Your mouth is trembling, and your eyes are welling up with tears for a reason you can’t explain. She’s beautiful and kind, and you like her. Yet the kiss was only a product of her surprise. She doesn’t like you like that. And now she’s probably creeped out and never wants to talk to you again.

Your breathing stops when you hear the door creak open.

“Kanaya, I know you’re in here. Please come out.”

Did she follow you into the bathroom? Why would she want to talk to you?

“I’m sorry about what happened. I was trying to flirt and I went overboard.”

Wait, what is she talking about? You stay silent, you brow creasing in confusion.

“Kanaya, please, I’m really sorry, and I understand if you don’t ever want to talk to me again. I’ll leave right after you talk to me, but I don’t want you to misconstrue my feelings as creepy or predatory. We need to talk now.”

Your fingers reach up to the bolt on the bathroom stall, undo it, and open it to see Rose Lalonde, eyes filled with tears, on the other side.

“Kanaya, if you’re not all right with the fact that I kissed you, you have every right to never talk to me. I want to tell you that I like you a lot, and that I thought you might reciprocate. I guess you don’t, but that doesn’t matter to me. I would love to be your friend, if nothing else.” She starts to cry, her mascara running and smudging. You reach for her hand, and she looks at you with wide lilac eyes.

“Oh dear. Rose, please don’t cry. I reciprocate completely, it’s just that I thought you didn’t like me either. I want to get to know you before we have romantic affiliations. I was just scared that you were angry with me.”

You stare at each other, then you pull her into a hug, her tears and mascara staining the fabric of your favorite flowered blouse. You don’t care, though… well, maybe a little.

“I don’t believe that dating at such a young age is ever a good idea, but… I would like to take you up on the offer of friendship. You are interesting and witty, and I want to know more about you.”

She nods. “I’d like that.” And she takes you by the hand, twin smiles spreading across your tear-streaked faces, and leads you back towards the classroom.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you think that maybe this is the best alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a bittersweet ending, but this is based on a true story, and this is how it ended then too. Not on those terms, but I swallowed my pride, got over it, and we became close friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true story about my first gay crush.


End file.
